


what should be vs. what has to be

by enharmony



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Brother/Brother Incest, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Implied/Referenced Sexual Content, Incest, M/M, Twincest, and conflicting emotions, coming to terms with many things, how many more versions of that can i tag until it gets overbearing, in a way at least, that makes it sound spicier than it is i'm sorry, there's a lot of talking and monologuing really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 09:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13831497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enharmony/pseuds/enharmony
Summary: Atsumu despises the word 'normal'.





	what should be vs. what has to be

**Author's Note:**

> how do you title I have no idea
> 
> okay how many times can I throw the words "THIS IS ALL ABOUT INCEST" at your faces until it gets obnoxious? because I'm going to. if that sorta stuff makes you uncomfortable (which I can totally understand), you better leave now! then again, why did you click on a fic with this ship tag in the first place? maybe you were just curious. maybe you misclicked. I don't know. either way, I hope you're having a good time no matter what you do!
> 
> this ... kind of escalated ... it wasn't supposed to go this deep but here we are. I'd say it's not 'traditionally shippy' but it definitely is something. I had half a mind to put this on my main account (this is a side account I still had flying around), but I'm too nonconfrontational to accidentally get involved in discourse and there's a lot of that around nowadays regarding ships that wouldn't work irl. if you can somehow tell who I am even beyond this mask of supposed anonymity, hello! how are you?
> 
> this is my first time writing either of them and they still kinda give me a lot of trouble, especially Atsumu, so I apologise if it comes across as a bit clunky occasionally. I'm trying my best, it just takes some time ... this was never meant to be this long. uhm.
> 
> anyway, with one last warning of "REALLY IF INCEST MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE PLEASE TURN AROUND NOW", I hope you enjoy! I had fun writing it, but it was also kind of a challenge, since they're so different from any other ship. that's what makes them so interesting though. ~
> 
> //e (4/19/2018): HA GUESS WHO ACCURATELY PREDICTED GINJIMA AND ATSUMU BEING IN THE SAME CLASS BY PURE COINCIDENCE I feel incredibly accomplished that my throwaway notion of "I need someone in Tsumu's class ... Gin? sure why not" actually turned out to be correct

Atsumu despises the word ‘normal’.

It’s an ugly statement laced with complacency – a normal toss to the ace winning them the match, a normal passing grade on an exam, a normal life with all its ups and downs that’s mildly satisfying in some way. ‘Normal’ is much more of an excuse than a benefit, and if he wants to do something, he wants to either rise to new heights or crash and burn. He’s never been satisfied with being ‘just average’.

So he’s come to terms with this. It’s not what people would consider acceptable by any usual standards, but if it had to happen to anyone, of course it had to be him. He almost likes it in a way, this feeling.

His fingers tap against the wooden table, a noise that he knows drives Osamu up the wall, which is exactly why he’s doing it. Even though his brother is turned to the stove pretending to be unaffected, Atsumu can tell easily how his back muscles are tensed up beneath his shirt and how he’s stirring the soup with just a little too much fervour.

He puts a bit more force into his taps and Osamu’s right arm twitches, causing the spoon to clink against the pot.

One more, and two, three, four, five …

“‘Tsumu, I swear to _god_ —”

Ah. There it is.

He still hasn’t turned around, but he doesn’t need to for Atsumu to know what his face looks like right now; eyebrows unevenly furrowed, lips pressed together in a straight line. It’s a face he’s seen many times, the one he pulls whenever Atsumu does something to annoy him, which is very often.

“I mean,” he starts, slowly, feigning a pout, “I’m just bored because you won’t let me help you.”

“Say that again when you’ve learned how to cook without burning down the kitchen.”

“That was five years ago!” Neither his mother nor his brother have let him do any kitchen work beyond washing the dishes since. To be fair, it does take some talent to literally burn hot chocolate, but that’s just one more bullet point on his list of things he’s not average at, which is fine by him.

“Five years of you still not learning shit.” Osamu makes a noise somewhere between an exasperated sigh and a groan. “How are you even gonna survive on your own when you leave home?”

Right. ‘Normally’, that’s what’s going to happen. They’ll be finished with school and walk their separate ways, unless they end up on the same university somehow, which they probably won’t considering his brother’s stupid plan of studying law. That’s so boring. So ordinary.

Atsumu truly, deeply despises the word ‘normal’.

“Who says I’ll be on my own?” he drawls. It’s a dangerous territory, but the benefit of being Miya Atsumu is that people usually assume anything you say that isn’t related to volleyball is just you being a little shit, even if you’re being completely honest. Maybe someday he can fool Osamu with that too. “And just leave my little brother alone to fend for himself?”

Osamu has given up several years ago on mentioning the fact that he’s only younger than him by seven minutes, but he’s definitely rolling his eyes right now. “Shut up and make yourself useful.”

“How? You were the one who said I wasn’t allowed to do anything!”

“I said stay away from the stove, you can still set the table or something, whatever.”

“I set the table and you spike the drinks …”

“Don’t even fucking start with volleyball puns.”

It hurts just a little bit to be shoved aside so easily, but it’s nothing he’s not used to. He shouldn’t mind it either way. They’re brothers. That’s just how they talk, how they always have.

With a sigh, Atsumu stands up from the table with the full intention of getting out the plates. They’re in a cupboard just above Osamu, who is blocking the way, and the right thing to do would probably be to push him away and complain about how he’s always standing where he’s not supposed to be, but he’s kind of pissed at him right now, so he doesn’t do that.

Instead he makes a point out of standing as close to him as possible, putting a hand on his shoulder for support when he reaches for the cupboard. Half of him wonders if this is how short people feel, but he’s mostly distracted by how he feels his brother tense beneath him, seeming a bit shorter now that Atsumu is standing on tiptoes.

He’s not good at being subtle, so he never even tried with him.

Osamu doesn’t move an inch, not even when he gives up on trying to reach the plates and instead settles for dropping his hands to his brother’s waist, lingering there.

There’s this annoying thing people always ask him whenever he mentions he has a twin – _So can you read each other’s thoughts? Do you have a telepathic connection? Can you feel what he feels?_ – and of course that’s all bullshit, but it’s true that they understand each other better than anyone else could ever hope to. After all, they’ve grown up together, with only seven minutes of peace and quiet for Atsumu before he was joined by this jerk he’s forced to live and do everything together with. They went to the same kindergarten, the same elementary, junior high, and high school, the same volleyball club, and even though at least one of them (or, more often than not, both) would constantly be whining about it, a large amount of their free time would also be spent together.

In a way, having a twin is like having the ultimate version of a childhood friend, except you don’t get to choose. Life just kind of threw them at each other and told them to make do with it.

So of course Osamu knows, and Atsumu does too, but through a thick layer of stubbornness and whatever is left of their morality and maybe, just maybe a tinge of fear, although he’d never admit that to anyone but himself, they don’t talk about it. Usually they don’t need to, they’ve fought out and settled week-long arguments without a single word, but this is different.

This doesn’t exist until you say it out loud and it’s better if they never do.

It’s not normal after all.

Atsumu despises the word ‘normal’ and everything that comes with it.

He watches him stir the soup, chunks of meat and carrots swirling around in an ugly green mass that he always says tastes terrible even though it’s delicious just to make him mad. It’s Osamu’s specialty – nothing fancy, but he’s grown pretty good at it over the years. He wouldn’t mind eating it every week.

He reaches forward so their stance turns into a full-on back hug and rests his chin on his brother’s shoulder. There’s only the smallest difference in height between them so it’s quite comfortable.

“You’re twisted,” Osamu says without looking up from the stove.

“I’m not doing anything,” Atsumu replies, and it’s technically true. Family members are allowed to hug. Physical comfort is a thing. “But that soup looks like it’s done.”

“Fuck off, it’s done when I say it is.” His stirring motion finally comes to a halt and not two seconds later, he pushes the pot away from the hotplate. “It’s done, now get off me.”

He does as told, but not without saying, “Ha, who was right? I was right, because I’m _always_ right—”

“Say that again and you’re not getting anything.” Osamu turns around and shoves him away so he can reach the cupboard. Right, getting the plates was supposed to be Atsumu’s job.

“‘Samuuu, c’mon, I know you’re jealous but that’s a bad trait to have!”

“Says you of all people? You’re the worst person I’ve ever met. Next to you everyone would look like a saint.” He hits Atsumu’s head with a plate not as lightly as he would have hoped before heading for the table.

He’d like to retort something, but his brother has a point. Atsumu doesn’t feel all that bad about being considered a terrible person, really, as long as he leaves an impression and gets to do what he wants to do. Everyday life is a lot like volleyball in that regard.

Though to be fair, Osamu isn’t as much of a saint as he likes to pretend to be either.

They fill their plates with soup and sit down at the table, across from each other like they always do. When their parents are home, they tend to forget to eat over their chatter, but when it’s just the two of them like today, it usually gets quiet save for the occasional mean remark.

Times likes these are when he feels a bit intimidated.

It’s like that time not long ago when they had that fight, an ugly, physical thing that gave them both bruises that wouldn’t fade for days, and before making up they wouldn’t exchange so much as a glance. In a way, it was probably for the better – when he’s mad at his brother he can forget the feelings burning beneath that that shouldn’t be there. In reality, what he hoped to be the breaking point only made them stronger once they did get past their differences.

He saw a similar thing gleam up in Osamu’s eyes that day, eyes that mirror his own save for the droopy eyelids that always make his brother look tired of him, which is convenient because it’s usually true.

It’s not that he’s pretending that either. Atsumu knows that he annoys the shit out of him (a mutual feeling) and that he may not even like him in the traditional sense. If they weren’t related, they might not even be friends. But that doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

“It’s so watery,” he complains and points his spoon at the soup. “Because you were stirring it all the time.”

“It’s not, and even if it was, that’d still have nothing to do with that,” Osamu replies with a glare.

“It still sucks.” It’s not much of a lie, this is usually much better. Maybe that’s Atsumu’s fault though for annoying him like he did. He wouldn’t put it past Osamu to make it bad on purpose to get him back for it.

“Then go eat something else or starve.”

He hates that he has a point. They don’t have anything he can make and he ate the last pudding yesterday, not like that’s a full meal anyway. So watery soup it is, even if that means admitting defeat to Osamu.

He’ll just have to pay him back in a different way someday. Maybe raid his closet again, his brother spent his last pocket money on a nice jacket while Atsumu had to burn it on new volleyball shoes since his old ones were falling apart. That jacket is going to look much better on him anyway.

They continue eating in silence. Between the lack of the radio or television going on in the background and their faded out conversation, every clink of the spoons against the porcelain is as loud as an explosion.

These kinds of tense situations are ones that Atsumu really hates, because they’re the only ones that leave him without a clue of what to do. Usually he always figures something out, but right now he feels like he’s backed against a wall with no way of running.

He’s not used to this feeling.

So he stands up as soon as he’s done, earning another glare from his brother that reads _can’t you at least wait until I finished_ , but he doesn’t pay it any mind. He quickly rinses his plate and puts it in the dishwasher – it’s new, Osamu broke the last one so they didn’t have one for a while, and having it back is an absolute blessing – before turning around and heading for the staircase.

Before he reaches that though, his brother stands up as well, blocking his path once more. His plate is still standing on the table and he’s not showing any signs he’s going to clean it anytime soon (and he calls _Atsumu_ the irresponsible one) so he’s momentarily confused as to what the hell he’s doing.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“To my room.” He thought that was obvious. He actually still has homework to do, so that gives him a decent excuse … Not that he’s actually going to do that, of course. Ginjima always lets him copy.

Osamu blinks at him like he’s just said something to completely throw him off. It’s really funny, but Atsumu can’t bring himself to laugh.

“What?”

“Weren’t you supposed to be cleaning downstairs?”

Oh shit. He forgot about that. Their parents won’t be home until the day after tomorrow, so he’s not going to get yelled at if he doesn’t do it today though. With enough pressure, he can surely waltz it off on Osamu. “Nah, not feeling it. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

The unimpressed stare he gets in return tells him his brother knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Seriously, I’ll do it tomorrow!”

“And what are you doing now then?” His voice still sounds doubtful.

“Homework?” He didn’t mean to make it sound like this much of a question; it’s not really helping his case. Honestly though, it’s kind of difficult to form any coherent sentence when he knows that just a step further would mean they’d be so close their faces would be almost touching.

He knows, of course, that he shouldn’t feel anything but mild annoyance and perhaps a tint of disgust at that idea. That’s what normal people would feel.

Atsumu really fucking despises the word ‘normal’.

And he knows, too, that his twin feels the same way. That’s what makes it so difficult. If he was the only fucked up one here and Osamu retained some semblance of morality, responsibility, basic human decency, it would be easier to dismiss it, but being so painfully aware that they both want this …

It’s like something inside him is saying, _If he doesn’t mind, why not go for it?_

But there’s a difference between the things he shouldn’t do and the things he absolutely cannot do. For all intents and purposes, they should stay far, far away from each other. He should see them going to different universities as a good thing, despite the whole not being able to cook for himself dilemma.

And yet – and _yet_ – it’s not, in any way, a good thing. Because being apart from the person that’s always been with you is a hard enough reality to stomach when they’re _just_ that.

“You’re just gonna copy off Gin anyway,” Osamu says.

“What if Gin dies?”

“Why would Gin _die_?”

“I dunno,” Atsumu mumbles and stares to the side. They need to clean the floor, too. “Now let me through.”

“Password?” It’s an old game they used to play back when they were in elementary school. Nowadays, he only brings it up when he feels like being an ass.

“The password is fuck you.” He steps to the side to avoid him but Osamu mirrors his movement perfectly. He knows for a fact he’s not getting through here for now – even if he were to try and fight, he’s weaker than his brother, something that he’s working on fixing right now but can’t quite seem to achieve. He works out more than his twin, so why?

“Wrong.”

“What are you trying to achieve with this? Go clean your damn plate.” He has no reason to be annoying him right now other than the whole cleaning the first floor thing. Atsumu isn’t lying about that homework either.

“No, you clean it. I cooked.”

“Because you wouldn’t let me!” This is getting ridiculous. All he wants is to go to his room.

He’s about to glare at him and hope it’ll have an effect when he realises that what’s written on his brother’s face isn’t annoyance or even playfulness. No, he looks downright confused, as if he’s trying to do something but has no idea what, and has maneuvered himself into this predicament where he now has to come up with some excuse as to why he’s doing any of this.

And suddenly Atsumu knows exactly what’s going on here.

It’s a familiar feeling but one he hasn’t seen on Osamu before – that kind of moment where your body moves on its own to do something your brain doesn’t dare think about and before you know it you’re stuck with no way out. Because in reality, you’ve long since accepted it, and you’ve just grown so used to thinking about him in such a way that you momentarily, just for the fraction of a second, forget that it’s not supposed to be this way.

In that moment, it seems just normal.

Atsumu despises the word ‘normal’ with all its implications.

That realisation – that sudden punch in the gut that proves he underestimated the way his brother thinks about this – that rush short-circuiting his brain is what pushes him over the edge.

He practically crashes into him to kiss him and suddenly years and years of repressed emotions he knows he shouldn’t be having come breaking through the wall he built around them to seal them off, suddenly all their fights and all their good times are coming together in something so much different, suddenly the line he drew just beyond somewhat ambiguous touches doesn’t exist anymore.

It’s a sloppy, desperate, objectively terrible kiss but it’s what he’s been wanting to do for as long as he can remember because most people – most people wouldn’t feel this, most people have a barrier in their brain preventing them from even considering this, most people know that his isn’t normal but they’re not most people and Atsumu _despises_ the word ‘normal’ but none of that matters, not when Osamu’s hands are twisting in the fabric of Atsumu’s shirt and he’s kissing him back, until their lips are bruising and teeth are clashing and he forgets how to breathe—

Until his brother pushes him away and gasps for air, cheeks red like the fire he feels burning through his entire body, and he pants more than he says, “What the _fuck_ , ‘Tsumu?”

He doesn’t know if it’s his heart or Osamu’s that he hears pulsing so loudly it almost drowns out everything else.

_Yeah. What the fuck._

Atsumu doesn’t have a chance to answer before his twin moves in again and their lips meet once more.

More gently this time, though still full of anger and feelings they don’t understand, feelings he’s not sure if they’re worthy of being called ‘love’ or if it’s something else entirely, but what he does know is that there’s never going to be anyone like this in his life.

It has to be – it absolutely _has_ to be Osamu.

It’s twisted. It’s revolting, it’s painful, it’s _wrong_ , but nothing before has ever felt this right.

He’s given up on fighting it long ago.

Now that he’s actually paying attention, it feels a bit strange. He’s kissed before but never the person literally identical to him and maybe that’s why he expected him to feel more familiar but he really doesn’t, because why would he, despite always wanting to he never went through with this after all and it’s an entirely new experience. So he clings to him in the ways he knows how to, lets his hands drop to his waist like so many times before, closes his eyes to let him lead like their combinations in an intense volleyball match.

Like this, it’d be easy to pretend this is someone else, but at the same time it’s not. That connection they share can never be broken and he can’t fool himself when he knows better.

Perhaps it’s some part of him still holding on desperately to his sanity, the part that screams at him at night that he’s fucked up and this has to stop and nothing good can come out of this, but that part can shut the fuck up because he just proved it wrong. This is the best thing to come out of anything.

They part with a wet _smack_ and he tilts his head to the side and pulls Osamu downward by his hair, signalling for him to kiss his neck, which thankfully he does without complaining for once.

(When he’s alone in the dark, tucked away in his bed touching himself to the thought of a shadowy figure shaped like himself, this is what he likes to imagine – and usually how far he gets before the guilt washes over him and he ends up panting and crying and never really satisfied.)

He feels his brother’s teeth scrape over the sensitive skin of his neck and a broken gasp escapes his throat.

His mind can’t help but spin this thought further all on its own. Kisses on the mouth that slowly go down, down, _down_ —

Osamu stills, breathing heavily against his neck, a sensation thrilling all on its own.

“What?” Atsumu snaps, but it doesn’t come across as sharply as he’d have hoped. His voice is scratchy even though he hasn’t talked much, like the words don’t want to come out. “Don’t stop, you ass.”

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” his brother mumbles against his skin. The vibration sends shivers down his spine but his words just piss him off.

“You’re saying that _now_? You can play the saint when you’re not kissing me, ‘Samu.” He makes a point out of grinding forward a bit, just enough to get a little breathy sound out of him. He’s not fooling anyone – of course he’s hard, he had better damn well be after both of them have been repressing this for so long. Atsumu isn’t going to be the only desperate one here if he has any say about it. “Save your common sense for after we fuck.”

It came out so easily, but about a second after he’s said it, the weight of what he just implied hits him. Kissing him was one thing – suggesting sex is a completely different one, in many ways. Not only is he still a damn virgin with his only experience being shitty dirty manga which would definitely make this awkward as fuck, but pushing it into that … Making this out to be a thing fuelled purely by lust …

That’d be the easy way out, and it’s not the truth. If it was, he could probably brush it off as some sort of fetish or whatever, fantasising about someone who looks exactly like him.

It’s not. It’s _not_.

It’s not that simple.

He does really need to get off though, so he doesn’t take it back. Surely Osamu knows what he really means. He always does. It’s not ‘trust’, per se, just an understanding that comes from spending your entire life together. They never really had a choice.

Osamu looks up and stares at him with a half-open mouth and narrowed eyes. “What did you just say?”

He switches on his brightest smile to hide the fact that he has no idea what the hell he’s doing at this point. “I said, ‘Save your common sense for after we fuck’.”

“You’re the absolute worst,” his brother says, no hint of joking in his voice.

“Why, thank you!” He laughs a little too loudly.

Even still, they have yet to let go of each other, so he doubts they’ll give up now. His words are a challenge in more ways than one and if there’s one thing he knows, it’s that neither of them will ever back down from a challenge.

He’s proven right when his brother grabs his wrist and pulls him toward the stairs.

Every step is a reminder that this is really happening and that they’re actively _choosing_ this. Having a moment of weakness in one place suddenly turns into an admission of said weakness when they switch locations and still don’t decide to call it off. It’s something he knew would happen if he was the one in charge but he’s not, and he honestly didn’t expect Osamu to go through with it.

Osamu was supposed to be the voice of reason.

There’s too much going on in his head to realise what’s happening before he’s pushed down on a mattress harder than his.

“Why are we in your room?” Osamu may have been the one leading but Atsumu’s room is much better. The bed is softer and the view from his window is nicer. Not that any of that really matters, but still.

“Because,” his brother says and lets go of him to open the drawer of his bedside table, “I know for a fact you don’t have lube or condoms.”

“How would you even know that?” He’s right, of course, Atsumu doesn’t need them right now so why buy them, but he doesn’t have to know that. “Did you raid my room or what?”

“I was just looking for the scarf you stole from me. Didn’t find that either by the way, no matter how hard I looked.” He closes the drawer again and throws something on the mattress that almost hits him.

“The colour doesn’t suit you at all, why even bother? Also I just borrowed it.”

“You can only call it borrowing if you plan on giving it back. Now shut up or I’m leaving.”

“Leaving your own room? Bad planning, ‘Samu, bad planning—”

He’s interrupted by Osamu climbing on top of him and kissing him fiercely. It’s not a motion of affection, just one that reads _I said shut up_. It’s obnoxiously effective, too.

In his dreams, this was always a big event. Cue the dramatic music and flying cherry blossoms and whispered confessions and everything. Now that it’s happening for real, though, it doesn’t feel much different from usual.

Atsumu finds he likes this much more. It makes it seem like something actually within his reach.

As always, there’s a few things about the situation he fucking hates though. For one, the difference in experience between the two of them. Osamu had a pretty stable boyfriend in junior high that he unfortunately knows he did some filthy things with – back then, before he admitted to himself what he was really feeling, he liked to pretend he was just being mad at his brother for disturbing him and giving him ugly mental images when in reality he knows now he was jealous, and of the wrong person. Which leads to point two – the thought that this is the same bed they did that in is disgusting. He doesn’t want to have to think of anyone else.

He’s panting when Osamu releases him, but stays on top of him, sitting up. There’s something on his face even Atsumu can’t decipher, which probably means his brother doesn’t know what it means either. He can’t blame him for being confused by this situation and not knowing what to feel or how to deal with it.

That also means he has a bit of an edge now.

“So do you know how to do this or are you just pretending?” he says, staring up at him with what he hopes is a sly grin. This still doesn’t feel real enough to know for sure.

“I’m not taking that kind of comment from the virgin,” Osamu deadpans.

“How do you know— How do you even know that?” By all accounts, he _shouldn’t_ know. Is this guesswork based on his lack of findings in Atsumu’s room or what? “I could’ve had sex before!”

His brother doesn’t even dignify that with a response. Jerk.

Instead he reaches for one of the things he threw at him earlier that upon closer inspections turns out to be a small plastic bottle with something written on it he can’t read from here. Lube, most likely.

He feels his cheeks heating up and suddenly it’s impossible to look at him, so he turns his head to face the wall.

Talking or fantasising about this is all well and good but now that it’s suddenly becoming an actual thing at a breakneck pace he can’t help but be intimidated. It was difficult enough getting to this point and his head is still filled with a fog of things he doesn’t understand, that guilt is still gnawing away at him even now, whispering words of _stop this before it’s too late_ and _you’re disgusting_ and _there’s everything wrong with you_.

“‘Tsumu?”

He refuses to look at him, still stares at the wall as if it could swallow him up so he’ll never have to return and face these conflicting feelings ever again. Atsumu isn’t used to being this _weak_ , to his mind, to his brother, to his emotions, to everything.

“Alright, fine, let’s not.” Osamu’s words sound so final they bore themselves into his heart like knives, twisting and twisting and _twisting_ —

“I hate you,” he finds himself whispering, and even that sound is hollow.

“Yeah, that feeling’s mutual.” He feels him climb off him, sit up straight on the bedside, turned away from him.

He takes a shuddering breath before turning around to press his face into a pillow and mutter, “I love you.”

“That too.”

How he even heard that is beyond him, but he’s not going to question it.

“Then again,” Osamu muses, “you were the one who started this.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“This is my room.”

“So what.”

Nothing happens for a few seconds, nothing but silence. Atsumu is starting to feel dizzy from all the back and forth, or maybe it’s just his brain finally shutting down. He hopes it’s the latter but doesn’t think he’s that lucky.

Then, quietly, Osamu says, “We can’t really ignore this, can we?”

Well, they could, and everything would be as it always was – until one of them breaks or both and this whole thing starts again. It’s too late to take back what they said. This is now something they have to deal with, whether they want it or not. “Nah,” is what he neatly summarises that as.

“It’s gonna be awkward as fuck whenever someone else is around.”

“Mhm.” If nothing else, he knows he won’t do anything questionable under the watchful eyes of Kita. He’s pretty sure that guy isn’t even human and knows better than to get on his bad side.

“Do you have anything of substance to say or are you just gonna keep being useless?”

Atsumu throws his pillow at him without looking and it sounds like he misses him so badly it hits a wall. Now he’s not only out of ammunition, but his face is also pressed against nothing but the mattress, which is uncomfortable as all hell. He doesn’t want to get up either way though – that’d mean looking this drama straight in the eye.

Everything is weird right now.

Atsumu despises the word ‘normal’, but sometimes, in the back of his mind, he does find himself wishing he didn’t.

“‘m not useless,” he ends up saying half-heartedly. Fighting with him doesn’t feel like an option either, so he can’t be bothered to try.

“Then tell me what you wanna do with this.”

The question catches him so off guard he ends up turning his head and looking at him anyway, still sitting facing away from him. Osamu? Asking for his opinion? Is this a parallel universe? “What.”

“Yeah.” He finally shifts and looks at him, and in the moment their eyes meet something washes over him like a wave of familiarity.

This is something they need to actually talk about. No roundabout implications and hope that the other understands with only gestures and looks can guide them through this, but – but.

That understanding is still there.

_I’m scared of this too, ‘Tsumu._

Osamu was the one who fought it harder, even if he eventually gave in.

And seeing that same feeling in his brother’s eyes that he knows so well from his own heart somehow makes it easier to say, “I’m not giving you up.”

Jumping headfirst into it like they just tried to do did nothing to help them, but if there’s one thing he truly knows, it’s that the thought of being with anyone else is too much to bear. He could listen to that voice of reason in his head and force himself to turn away, but he did that all this time and it only made things worse. He can’t do that.

He’s not that selfless.

So he’ll make it shut up. He’ll show it that he’s perfectly fucking capable of handling this situation in the most responsible way possible, no matter if anyone believes that or not, and if Osamu has that same voice he’ll shut that one up too.

Atsumu sits up and leans against Osamu’s back. Closes his eyes, just breathing for a bit. People always say you’re attracted to people who smell good to you but he can hardly smell anything at all from Osamu. It’s the same scent he’s known since he was a baby, after all, and he’s so used to it at this point he’s tuned it out completely. For some reason, he prefers it this way. It feels like home.

“I don’t really know where to go from here.”

His brother makes a good point. Where _do_ they go from here? It can’t continue like it always did, but it’s different from starting a conventional relationship too. Is there some sort of etiquette with these things? Hell, he barely knows anything about romance in general, much less with one’s own twin brother.

But they’ll figure something out. They always do.

“Who cares, let’s just do it.”

Wherever this will lead them, they have no choice but to follow. Atsumu knows that, maybe he has always known. And of course, Osamu knows it too. After all, their hearts have been beating in unison ever since they were born.

And now it’s time to play a song to that beat.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you very much for reading!
> 
> feel free to talk to me on the [side Tumblr I specifically made for this account](https://en-harmonia.tumblr.com/) ~ it's still new so I haven't had time to make the theme look pretty yet, but other than that it's fully functional. and comments are of course always appreciated! ♥ I'm not on this account a lot so I might be slow with replying. or maybe not. nobody knows, really.


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